Tremble (38 page)

Meanwhile the most powerful rabbi placed himself squarely in front of Miriam and Myra.

“Myra and Miriam Gluckstein, the council has discussed your case and this is our judgment. We give you one week, and one week only, to rid your house and souls of this abomination by whatever means necessary. If you fail to do so we will excommunicate you, purchase your property at cost price, then board the house up until further notice.”

Myra reached out a hand but the rabbi had already turned his back on them and was marching back to his colleagues.

“That schmuck,” she hissed to Miriam. “He will not even look into the eyes of a woman for fear of catching something terrible—like empathy.”

Behind them the camera crew were slamming shut the doors of their van. Blushing furiously Mordecai Bergerman hobbled up to Myra.

“Myra, I did what I could. I have argued with them for days but in the end there was nothing I could do….”

“So what do you suggest now, kid? We option the movie, nu?” Disgusted, Myra walked back into the house.

The next morning had the atmosphere of a wake. Myra, convinced they were about to be evicted, had already begun to pack up her most precious objects—huge piles of ancient books and papers well over fifty years old. She sat in the infamous yellow dressing gown, a photo of Abraham circa 1946 sticky-taped to her breast in case she forgot him in the rush, staring mournfully at the fried matzo and egg on the plate in front of her.

“So what is the point of eating? I might as well die now and save on the airfare to Chicago, assuming your mother will have us.”

“Let’s not panic, I have a plan,” said Miriam.

“So what do you know that I don’t?”

Later that morning Miriam locked the bedroom door, propped up a shirt of Aaron’s with his photo perched in the empty collar, then sat before the effigy. She paused for a moment, staring into his deep brown eyes, then said aloud, “Aaron, I know why you haven’t left us; there is something you have left unfinished, something that I’m sure, had you lived, you would have had the courage to carry through. Well, darling, I’m going to do it for you. And may God protect both of us.” Fighting back the tears, she took a deep breath, then rang the number of the first lawyer mentioned in the file. Amazed to hear from her he immediately made an appointment to see her and insisted that she take every precaution against personal attack and possible burglary.

“You don’t know these guys, Mrs. Gluckstein,” he told her, fear thickening his voice. “They will stop at nothing. Already I’ve had two clients mysteriously disappear. What you have in that file could destroy a corporation more powerful than half the countries in the world. Your husband would have known that.”

Trembling Miriam put down the receiver, then immediately wondered if the phone was tapped.

Two hours later she was riding the subway escalator up to Wall Street. Dressed in an elegant suit Myra had borrowed from a secular friend, her black wig exchanged for a chic bobbed one, her legs revealed in stockings from the knee down and wearing high heels, she was unrecognizable—which was exactly what Miriam wanted.

I am not being irreligious, I am not breaking the law, I am playacting for a higher purpose, she convinced herself as she attempted to walk without stumbling in the high shoes. A handsome executive smiled at her—a Christian. For a second Miriam looked behind her, thinking the smile was for someone else, then caught sight of herself in a window. The woman in the reflection was beautiful. She wasn’t hunched over in shyness nor covered from head to toe; she looked modern, confident—but she wasn’t anyone Miriam knew. Breathing deeply to check her fear she looked at the street numbers and finally found the building she needed.

“You’ve read all of this?” John Stutton, attorney, placed the file carefully on the desk, then looked at the young woman sitting in front of him. For someone so beautiful she seemed decidedly uncomfortable in her clothes and he had a sneaking suspicion that she might be wearing a wig. The possibility of cancer treatment floated through his mind.

“I have,” Miriam responded gravely.

“And you would be willing to testify in court, despite the enormous risk to both yourself and your family?”

“There is no family, just Aaron’s mother, and I’ve spoken to her. She is fully supportive. Myra was a radical once, before she became Orthodox.”

“That’s right, Aaron Gluckstein was…”

“We are of the Lubavitch movement.”

Now the young woman’s discomfort was starting to make sense to the lawyer.

“It must have taken some courage to make the decision to approach me. I appreciate it.”

“Not courage. I have strong reason to believe it’s what Aaron would have wanted, still wants.”

John Stutton, a staunch atheist and confirmed rationalist, decided he didn’t really want to go into the reason why the widow should have arrived at such a conclusion after Aaron’s death. He was just grateful that, out of all the lawyers mentioned in the file, she had chosen him. Trying to underplay the tremendous excitement that began to percolate at the thought of the biggest opportunity in his career, the attorney walked to the window. Outside the streetlights had begun to light up the city.

“You do realize that when this breaks—and believe me, it will break, Mrs. Gluckstein—it stands to be one of the biggest lawsuits this country has ever seen? It will also be a victory of the small man over the corporation, a long overdue victory.”

It was here that John Stutton, an unemotional man in his late fifties who had been fighting Safecom for over two decades, began to lose control.

“You have to understand that I have clients who have lost sons, daughters, spouses—all deaths that could have been prevented if this…” he pushed the file forward, “if this information had been acted on.”

“I lost a husband, Mr. Stutton.”

“Well, maybe now there’s a chance to get a little bit of him back,” the lawyer concluded smugly, thrilled with his own rhetoric. The young
widow couldn’t help but wonder what the attorney would say if he knew that little bit had already come back, although not in a way he could possibly imagine.

Miriam returned to the house to discover the place ransacked. Tables and chairs had been overturned and papers fluttered down the staircase like disorientated doves. Myra’s two Japanese carp (almost as old as she was) were flapping on the carpet, their bowl smashed, along with several vases. Miriam stood in the middle of the room stunned, wondering whether the chaos could somehow be an imagined extension of her own recently disturbed life. A book, splayed and broken-spined on the edge of an overturned chair, tottered and fell to the floor. The thud brought her back to reality. Safecom, it had to be. She ran up to the bedroom.

As she’d suspected the filing cabinet was on its side, contents spilled everywhere, and Aaron’s desk drawers had been pulled out and emptied. She scanned the contents quickly—the thieves hadn’t actually taken anything. What they were after was now safely in the hands of Stutton, Stutton & Jobain. Below, the front door slammed.

“Oi vey!” Myra shouted. Miriam ran back out to the landing to see her mother-in-law clutching at the wall for support.

“We have been robbed and desecrated!” she yelled, holding her two dead carp up to heaven. “Enough with the misery! When is it going to stop, tell me this, you sadistic schmuck!”

Realizing Myra was addressing God, Miriam took her to the kitchen and sat her down. She gave her a sedative.

“Take this and then you sleep, okay? We’ll deal with the mess in the morning.”

“Sure, as if life is always that simple,” the old lady muttered cynically but allowed herself to be led to bed like a lamb.

As soon as Myra was safely tucked in, Miriam called John Stutton, who immediately sent a security guard over.

“Mrs. Gluckstein, these people are playing very serious hardball. They’re not going to be worrying about religious etiquette when they break your door down in the middle of the night, therefore I suggest you don’t worry about it either.”

The security guard arrived within twenty minutes: a huge Latino with the friendly name of Jesus Hosé Mandelis. Deeply religious himself, he insisted on staying by the front door, even when gratefully consuming the snack of chopped liver and bread Miriam made for him. She couldn’t help but be relieved by the fact that along with a collection of crucifixes and evil-eye charms, he wore not just one gun but two and seemed to keep in constant contact with a network of fellow security guards all over New York City via his pager.

Finally, exhausted, Miriam collapsed onto her and Aaron’s bed, still fully clothed, still surrounded by the pandemonium the intruders had left. It was only as she was drifting off to sleep that she realized Aaron’s snore was far fainter than before.

“So you approve,” she whispered, smiling, before curling up on his side of the bed.

The next morning at Stutton, Stutton & Jobain, John Stutton recorded Miriam’s statement and warned her that she would be expected to make an affidavit in front of a judge. Then he ushered in a middle-aged couple. The husband, his face a road map of twitches, seemed incapable of meeting Miriam’s eyes. The wife, a tall, thin dried-up stick of a woman clutched at her handbag as if she were drowning and it was a life buoy.

“Mr. and Mrs. Halston’s son and daughter-in-law were both killed in the SVU 450,” John Stutton explained. “Their three-month-old son survived only to die in a coma a week later. I believe the car design flaw described in your husband’s file was directly responsible. We filed an action five years ago; we lost. On behalf of the Halstons and fifty other plaintives I have relodged a legal action, one that I am confident we can now win. I have also issued a press statement that will hit the stands tomorrow morning. Believe me, Mrs. Gluckstein, this will be big news, very big news.”

Jerking her arms free from her handbag Mrs. Halston suddenly grabbed Miriam’s hands and squeezed them in gratitude.

“My wife says thank you. She hasn’t spoken since the accident,” Mr. Halston translated, turning his mournful bloodshot eyes to Miriam for the first time.